


All Your Breath

by swatkat



Category: Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swatkat/pseuds/swatkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, she notices the eyeshadow. [Or, the true love story of Emily and Serena.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> The characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. Title from Adrienne Rich's 'Final Notions.' Originally posted [here](swatkat24.livejournal.com/194715.html) on 15 March 2009.

First, she notices the eyeshadow.

Green; startling against the shock of red hair (dyed), almost overpowering but _not quite_ , neatly co-ordinated with a black skirt. Black nail polish. Chanel boots. Later, Serena will learn the girl behind the makeup and think _naturally_ and _of course_ , but now what she thinks is, _Nice_. 

'Who is that?' she asks Amanda as they move ahead with their trays. 

Eyeshadow Girl casts longing glances at the carbs and dairy products lined up on the table. Serena takes a bite of her own salad. 

'Miranda's new second assistant,' Amanda tells her, munching thoughtfully on a piece of lettuce.

'But the last one just—'

'Wrong coffee,' Amanda says simply, and shrugs. Serena winces. 

Eyeshadow Girl glances at her watch; jumps. She throws her leftover food in the bin and _dashes_ out, as though her very life depends on it. 

Which, knowing Miranda Priestley, it probably does.

Nice, Serena thinks again. Nice.

*

'And _then_ she said, "Who's Miranda?"' says Emily, and breaks into peals of hysterical laughter. 

' _No_!' Serena gasps. 

' _Yes_!' Emily says. 'And she asked, what makes you think I'm not interested in fashion! With that hair! And that _thing_ she was wearing, oh god…' She dissolves into laughter again, clutching a pillow to her chest, knocking another one down to the floor.

'I don't believe it!' 

'I know!' Emily says when she's not shaking helplessly anymore. Her words end in a cough; Serena reaches for the Evian she always keeps on her bedside table.

Emily's a little breathless, now, and her face is red. Her eyes, when Serena hands her the bottle, are sparkling. 

*

Five years, and New York remains a strange city: welcoming and alien and familiar and confusing. Winter, especially, is cold and endless; Serena wraps herself in warm clothes and thanks the Lord for the numerous coffee-shops dotting Manhattan. 

'Why would I want to be anywhere else?' Emily says when she asks, with a don't-be-ridiculous arch of her eyebrows. 

Emily, Serena has learnt, took to New York like fish take to water, and she hasn't looked back ever since. 

'Alright, maybe Paris,' Emily adds in an afterthought. 

The apartment's heat fluctuates and drops (as usual). Emily swears and huddles closer, muttering about perfect temperature control in Miranda's house. 

*

For the next few days, Serena watches Eyeshadow Girl flit around the _Runway_ office, carrying coffee and running errands for Miranda. 

She's quick on her feet. She has an eye for details. She speaks with an English accent and wears her eyeshadow in varied vivid shades. 

Later, Emily will tell her in a moment of uncharacteristic, alcohol-induced candour, 'You have a nice accent.'

And Serena will say, 'So do you.' Earnest. 

Now she learns her name: Emily. 

 

*

Andrea 'Call Me Andy' Sachs is everything Emily said she would be. She's overweight and poorly dressed, her hair is a horror and her _make-up_ —cheap lipstick and equally cheap, hastily put-on liner around her eyes—makes Serena shudder.

'She's an insult to everything _Runway_ stands for,' Emily says, pacing furiously in Serena's living room. 'I don't know what Miranda sees in her.' 

'Maybe she finds her funny?' Serena offers. 

'Only if you think a train-wreck is funny,' says Emily, rolling her eyes. 

Serena watches Andrea after that. Notes the high cheekbones, the full lips and the long eyelashes. A few touches here and there, a decent shade of lipstick and some work on the hair by a competent stylist…

She could, she thinks, almost be passable. And more. 

She wonders if that's what Miranda saw. 

And one evening when Emily concedes, unusually mellow, 'I suppose she has brains. She's nearly not as incompetent as she used to be,' Serena refrains from calling her pretty. 

*

They meet every day at the lunch queue. Eyeshadow Girl— _Emily_ —alternately pecks at her food and checks her watch. Ten past one and she abandons her tray, making a dash for her life. 

They exchange words, occasionally. Pleasantries. Commentary on the deteriorating quality of the food. Serena once catches Emily look yearningly at the croissants and Emily flushes guiltily. Her eyeshadow is electric blue and her hair the usual angry red and _nice_ , Serena finds herself thinking. 

That evening, Serena asks Emily out for a friendly cup of coffee.

*

Serena runs into Andrea on her way to the hospital. Andrea jumps, and goes red, and says, 'Oh, hi, Serena!' 

'Hi,' Serena says.

'I, um, came to see Emily.' She looks a little bit guilty. Her hair is done up and her make-up is co-ordinated—she looks gorgeous. She looks like she belongs in _Runway_ , by Miranda Priestley's side, and that's what Miranda saw, isn't it? 

Serena wonders if Emily noticed. Emily doesn't see much (anything) when it comes to Miranda.

It always comes to Miranda. 

'She's not talking to me,' Andrea says, hanging her head in what appears to be shame. 

'You're surprised?' 

'I… Yeah, I guess I shouldn't be,' she says, resigned. 

'Good. Now why don't you go and pack?' Something that might be hurt flashes in her eyes, but Serena doesn't care. 

*

In retrospect, when it happens, it's astonishingly simple. 

It's Friday night and they're out for drinks. Somehow, it's become a regular affair, something Serena looks forward to on weekends. 

Some might even call it a date. 

'You mean you've never considered modelling?' Emily says, raising her eyebrows. 

Serena did consider, once. She is older now, and New York is a strange city. 

'They told me I was too short,' she says lightly, sipping on her cocktail. 

Emily's eyeshadow is a violent shade of mauve. She doesn't seem to mind when Serena puts a hand on her thigh.

Her memory of that night is hazy, but she remembers the way the world moved when she closed her eyes. The soft press of Emily's skin and her affronted 'Of course I have!' when Serena had the temerity to ask, 'Have you ever—?' 

*

Her first day without crutches, Emily is overjoyed. 

'Do you think my legs are mismatched?' Emily says, scrutinizing her newly emancipated leg in front of the mirror. 

'No, they're perfect,' Serena says truthfully. 

She even allows Serena to order low-fat organic pizza from Raphael's in honour of the occasion.

Afterwards, Emily insists on doing the clean-up, flurrying about the place on slightly unsteady legs.

'You should sit down,' Serena calls out from her comfortable perch on the couch. 

'Oh, would you _stop_? You're not my mother,' Emily says, and sits down anyway. 'And have I told you what Karen did today? That girl is an absolute _disaster_.' 

*


End file.
